Cruel to be Kind
by The North Wyn
Summary: AU. Simmons is captured and held by Garrett and his men. Ward is tasked with interrogating her.


_A/N: This is actually a oneshot I started shortly after the Hydra reveal and have just now got around to posting. _

_Warnings: Some mentions of torture and non-graphic torture._

* * *

They've already gone a few rounds with her by the time Garrett sends him in.

"_Build on some of that _rapport_ you formed with her. Charm her. Get her to help us." _

He hesitates outside the door. Takes a deep breath.

"_And Grant? I don't need to remind you of what they'll do to her if you don't get her to talk_."

No, he doesn't.

He pushes the door open.

He sees the relief that instinctively crosses her face before she remembers. He crosses the room and reaches for her wrists, which are bound to the chair. She breathes in sharply as his hands brush hers. He cuts the bonds. She pulls her hands back from him quickly and gingerly massages them while looking up at him with wary eyes.

"Sorry about the Welcome Wagon. They're not as friendly as S.H.I.E.L.D's." It's a joke, but Simmons doesn't laugh.

It's ok; he doesn't really feel like laughing either.

"Now, you know what they want, Dr. Simmons. There are two ways this goes."

_Is one of them the easy way? _He pushes the memory of a very different interrogation a whole lifetime ago out of his mind. He stands back a little from her and crosses his arms.

Simmons looks up at him defiantly, eyebrows raised. When she offers no retort, he continues. "Let's start with something simple: Is all your research on the GH-325 contained on the flash drive we obtained from Skye?"

She gives him a deliberately blank look.

"Fine. What do you know about the GH-325? Specifically, its origin, its properties, and its effect on Skye and Coulson?"

"In English, please," he adds, a little softer, trying once again for humor.

"I'm not going to tell you anything. They'll have to kill me first," she hisses, face full of fury.

"They're not going to kill you."

She looks up at him, surprised. For a genius, she's not very smart. "What?"

He pulls a chair over and sits down in front of her, close enough that their knees touch. He leans forward; she leans back.

"They're not going to kill you, Simmons."

He reaches up to brush the bruises on her cheek. She flinches.

"They want what's in your brain. And they're going to do whatever they think is necessary to get it. They're going to hurt you. They're going to make you suffer. And they're not going to stop until you give it to them. You will scream and beg, but if they don't get what they want, well—you don't want that. Make it easy on yourself; help us."

She can't find the words, but she shakes her head. _Come on, Simmons._

"Wrong answer. You don't really know anything about torture, do you, tucked away in your safe lab? You don't know how bad it can be. But these men? It's like breathing to them. Simmons, I'm trying to _help_ you."

She takes a shaky breath and looks away from him, fixing the corner with a tear-filled steely glare. _Ok, then._

"Did you know that there are ways to simulate falling to your death? Your body, your brain _really_ believe you are falling to your death. You go into shock. Your heart stops. You die. And then they will restart your heart. And if you still tell them no, they'll do it again. And again."

She is shaking and tears are running down her cheeks. He sighs wearily. "Come on, Simmons."

She lifts her head up and fixes him with a look he knows; Jemma Simmons is trying to be brave.

Finally she finds her voice and what she says takes him by surprise. "Is this what you want, Grant?"

It isn't. Not really.

It doesn't matter.

It does.

It can't.

He leans closer, invading her space further, and sneers, "You don't get it. _Agent Grant Ward_," it's a mockery of the tone she and Fitz had used and he thinks he even made it nasally enough this time, "_Never_ existed."

Her face crumples. She blinks fiercely at the tears. She sits up straighter, lays her wrists down on the chair arms, and looks resolutely away from him. "I'd like you to go away now," she says primly, "You can send the other men back in."

Something in his stomach twists unpleasantly. He used to be the one she counted on to protect her and now she'd rather be with the men who hit her than with him.

It doesn't matter.

It _does_.

It can't.

He gets up and leaves without another word.

He doesn't send the men back in, though.

-end-


End file.
